


after i’ve packed up and run away

by cuethe_pulse



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Children of Characters, Domestic, F/M, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:26:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuethe_pulse/pseuds/cuethe_pulse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/904069">“an average life”</a>; after four years, Britta comes home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	after i’ve packed up and run away

**Author's Note:**

> For [Jessie](http://pabulumm.tumblr.com), who asked for “remember me – one character trying to get another to remember them”; [“an average life”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/904069) was also written for her. With special thanks to [Claire](http://shusihi.tumblr.com) for her help naming little Oliver Sigmund Perry-Winger.

When Oliver came home from preschool, it was blatantly obvious whose day it was to pick him up. The homemade Inspector Spacetime costume was a little too big and a little premature, it being a week until Halloween, and the robe dragged. He had to take off the bowler hat to look up and fully see the couple entwined in the living room. His father, kissing a blonde woman until they were nearly bent over the back of the couch, opened his eyes and drew back, throwing her slightly off balance for one woozy moment. 

“ _Hey_ , hey there, buddy,” Jeff greeted him while he wiped lip gloss off his smile, admittedly less ashamed than he probably should be. “Looks who’s back.” 

Britta hastily did up the buttons of her shirt, caught her breath, turned around, and met the eyes of her son for the first time. Well, _technically_ , the first time had been the night he was born, when she was still sweaty and sore, and Jeff was listing all the reasons she shouldn’t give him the middle name Sigmund (she did) so she wouldn’t pick up on how emotional he felt (she did). And there’d been times, after that, when she’d managed to find an internet connection strong enough for ten minute Skype calls; but he was still a baby then, and easily distracted. 

This was different. He was focused on her now, eyes muddy-blue and big like hers and clear. 

She knelt, got down at his level, in a move right out of that developmental psychology course she took one semester. “Hi, little guy,” she sing-songed through her nerves. “Remember me?” 

Those eyes squinted and analyzed, and then he shook his head. “No.” 

Jeff didn’t need to see her face to know it was falling. “Sure you do,” he swept in, reassuring. “I’ve shown you pictures. That’s your mom.” 

_Mom_. The word did strange things to her. She’d found it easier to separate herself from it, for the most part, when she was gone, when she didn’t have the reminder of a swollen stomach. 

“My _real_ mommy?” Oliver asked, and she couldn’t be sure if that was excitement or suspicion in his voice. 

“Yeah, of course.” 

“Not a pretend mommy, like Miss Lauren?” 

Standing, Britta raised her eyebrows at the man who was already chuckling in a guilty Goldblum-esque way. “Miss Lauren, huh?” 

“No, no, Miss Lauren,” Jeff laughed, walking over to stand behind their son, one hand settling on his shoulder and the other giving Oliver’s hair a vigorous tousle. “She was daddy’s _friend_ , remember? _This_ is your mom, the one who writes you those long and boring e-mails about foreign governments.” 

“Okay, obviously you didn’t read them because they are _ridiculously_ interesting, and, Oliver, one day you will thank me because last March I basically gave you an entire research paper on leftist guerrilla groups in Peru, so.” She held her hand out for a high-five, which he returned with very little hesitation though he had no idea why. “Anyway, I, um.” The touch of his palm to hers made her want to cry. “I know I’ve been gone for…a long time. But a little birdy told me that Halloween is your favorite holiday, and I didn’t want to miss it this year.” 

Oliver’s brow furrowed and nose wrinkled as he informed her, very matter-of-factly, “Birds can’t talk.” 

“Oh,” she snorted dismissively. “It’s an expression.” 

His face just scrunched up further. 

\-- 

“You should know that eighty percent of my decision to get this place lies in this dishwasher here.” 

Britta gave him a quick glance and the smallest quirk of her mouth before she dipped her hands back into the sudsy water. “Where’s the other twenty?” 

“All I’ll say is that the bedroom came fully furnished .” Jeff touched her waist, his smirk brushed against her ear. “And the previous owners had pretty sexy taste.” 

“You’re gross,” she said, fondly, and then, because she couldn’t keep it in anymore, “He doesn’t remember me.” 

“Britta. He’s four years old. He won’t remember to put on socks half the time, doesn’t mean he doesn’t love socks. If you don’t believe me, check his bottom drawer. Kid is wild about socks. It’s weird.”   

He didn’t offer any other comfort, but she supposed that was to be expected. She didn’t know why she felt so rejected. With each year she’d tacked on to her Britta Lives Her Life voyage around the world, each fuzzy apologetic phone call where Jeff assured her it was fine and she wondered just how long he would keep saying that, with each night spent in a hostel bunk bed or a tent or a bed of hay, she knew she was forcing the gap wider and wider. She’d brought this disappointment on herself. She knew that, and so did he, so she was grateful for his silence. 

She closed her eyes and took a breath while the sink drained, then dried her hands so she could turn and dance her fingers up his jaw. The kiss was brief and controlled, and nothing like the fierce way they’d thrown themselves together after he’d brought her home from the airport. Everything still simmered there, beneath their skin, but they held it back. 

“Hey,” he spoke softly on her lips, “listen, about Lauren…” 

“Oh god, don’t worry about it. I wasn’t exactly celibate while I was gone.” 

“Wait, what?” He pulled away as far as her arms around his neck would allow, but bit down on his surprise (because surely that was all it was, not hurt, not jealousy, just surprise) when he saw the expression on her face, the one that said she was just waiting to call him a hypocrite and go on a rant about double standards when they _could_ be kissing instead. “Right. Yeah. It’s whatever.” 

“ _So_ whatever,” she agreed. 

“And he _never_ called her ‘mommy’.” 

“Mm, did _you_?” 

“Very funny.” 

Jeff moved to kiss her again, until the soft padding of feet had them releasing each other. Oliver stepped into the kitchen, ready for bed with brushed teeth, an oversized Greendale sweatshirt, and a sleepy “goodnight”. 

“Goodnight, buddy. I’ll be in to read you a story in one sec, okay?” 

Britta felt her heart expand with something that felt very much like it was love, though she could neither confirm nor deny the possibility, distracted when Oliver turned to her and asked, “Are you staying?” 

“For a while. Maybe. Yes.” Her stammer was nothing but uncertainty. She tried again. “I think so. Is that…cool with you?” 

“Yeah,” he said, and his eyes, that were hers, looked happy when he hugged her. “Will you read the story, mommy?” 

“Of course,” she said; it was barely understandable through the relief lodged in her throat. She swallowed it along with the sob that threatened to spill out of her. This was salvageable. She hadn’t Britta’ed it beyond repair.  “Ooh, how about a spoooooky story, huh? Like _Frankenstein_ or _‘Salem’s Lot_ , or—got it,” she snapped, proud of herself. “ _Mein Kempf_!” 

“ _Or_ ,” Jeff interjected, “maybe some _Berenstain Bears_ go trick-or-treating. You know, something that _won’t_ give him nightmares and isn’t rated rebellious middle-schooler and up.” 

“Fine, bears it is.” So she had some things to learn. Judging by the way Oliver held her hand as he led her to his room and Jeff watched them from the doorway with a grin, they were both willing to help her.


End file.
